


Suddenly, Ducklings

by FifteenDozenTimes



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/FifteenDozenTimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes - more and more often, lately - baby animals just kind of pop into existence around Ian. That might be more fun if tour buses had more room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly, Ducklings

**Author's Note:**

> Silliest thing I've ever written, I think.

There are clear rules dictating what happens to the loser who falls asleep first on the first night of the tour, and after an epic rock-paper-scissors tournament to decide who gets to dish out the consequences, Brendon draws back Ian’s bunk curtain, Sharpie at the ready.

A large cat is lying in Ian’s arms, sleepily licking at its paws and one of Ian’s hands. Not large like overfed-housecat large, but, like — what the fuck.

“What the fuck,” Brendon hisses, in case the cat doesn’t like loud noises and decides to maul whatever makes those loud noises. “Ian, what — seriously, what the _fuck_?”

Ian shifts a little, blinks sleepily; he notices the cat before he notices Brendon, smiles softly at it and snuggles a little closer. That would be a lot more adorable if Brendon weren’t concerned for everyone’s lives right now.

“Ian.”

Ian blinks again and finally sees Brendon. “Uh. Shit. Hi.”

“Why the fuck is there a cougar in your bunk?”

“’S not a cougar,” Ian says, and yawns. “A lion, maybe? They’re usually smaller. What’s bigger than a lion but looks like a lion?”

“I don’t know. Why is whatever it is in your bunk?”

“Maybe I was dreaming about hugging someone.”

“Ian - “

“For real, though. Sometimes when I want to hug something, something to hug just kind of shows up.”

“Does it go away when you’re done hugging?”

“Uh, no, it, uh, it goes away when I find a home for it.”

Brendon rubs his hand over his face; he’s suddenly exhausted. “Okay. I - whatever, okay.”

He shuts the curtain on Ian nuzzling his face into the lion-or-whatever’s neck, and looks into the back lounge where Dallon and Spencer are, for unknown reasons, still playing rock-paper-scissors.

“Don’t make too much noise tonight,” he says. “Ian’s got a fucking liger cub or whatever in his bunk.”

Brendon shuts the door between the lounge and the bunks while what he said is still registering through Spencer’s weed haze. Whoever explains this shit is going to look fucking insane; for obvious reasons, Brendon’s gonna leave that to Ian.

*

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, _gimme_.”

It’s unusually early in the tour for Spencer to start getting all demanding-five-year-old about his bus snacks. Brendon lowers his magazine to see what the fuck kind of Pop-Tarts are that special - the kind that are a wrinkly little pug puppy, apparently.

Spencer’s practically cooing over it. Spencer’s kind of ridiculous.

“How often does this happen?” Brendon asks Ian, who’s looking bewildered in Spencer’s direction.

“Um, I dunno? It, y’know, depends.”

“Are you hug-deprived? Should we buy you a stuffed animal? Or one of those Japanese pillows that looks like a dude’s torso?”

“Please don’t.”

Brendon reaches up and tugs Ian’s arm, hard enough to send him sprawling half onto the couch and half onto Brendon’s lap. He gives Ian a quick hug, presses a noisy smacking kiss to his temple for good measure before he lets go.

“You’re definitely a Pugsley, aren’t you?” Spencer asks the puppy in his hands.

“Real original, Spence,” Brendon says; there’s movement in the corner of his eye, and when he looks over Ian has a soft black kitten sitting on his shoulder.

*

“This is getting a little absurd,” Brendon says. Dallon’s sprawled out on a couch, looking weirdly similar to the giraffe next to him.

“Maybe,” Dallon says, “but also kind of cool, how often do you get to bond with ligers?”

“You know Ian found a zoo for the - “

“Leonardo. Use his name.”

“For Leonardo. And the gi - “

“ _Steve_.”

“I’m finding it a little hard to believe you aren’t high right now,” Brendon says. “The Mormon thing is a cover, right? You just need an excuse not to share your stash.”

“I appreciate my animal friends. It’s sad how you think I can’t do that sober. What died in your soul, Brendon?”

“When we drop your friends off at the zoo, I am going to laugh at your pain,” Brendon says, and leaves Dallon. The kittens - there are three now - are better company.

Ian’s sitting in the aisle between the bunks with them already, wiggling his fingers for them. Brendon reaches into his bunk to get the spare shoelaces he’s been using for cat toys and sits next to him.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No?”

“Uh.”

“I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

Ian shrugs. “You like animals, usually.”

“I fucking love animals. We’re on a bus, though; I feel crowded when it’s just me and three dudes, and you don’t seem like you’re slowing down any.”

“If I could control it - “

“Are you okay? I mean, is this, like, is this amount of needing hugs normal for you?”

Ian’s sitting pretty far away from Brendon, considering they’re in a narrow aisle playing with the same kittens. And Ian’s a pretty touchy dude, the way Brendon is, always tucking himself into laps and draping himself over backs. There’s something not quite right about the distance he’s making, even if Brendon didn’t know apparently he wants hugs several times a day.

“It’s not _not_ normal,” Ian says, after a long silence; Brendon doesn’t push, and he isn’t totally surprised when a puppy appears in Ian’s lap.

*

“My girlfriend’s going to break up with me if I call and tell her I want another puppy,” Spencer’s saying into Ian’s bunk. “You need to stop making puppies.”

“I can’t control it, dude.”

“You could deal with your crush, and stop making animals in general.”

“And break Dallon’s heart? He fucking loves this.”

Spencer sighs. “I’ll talk to him for you, if you want.”

“Are you in high school? Jesus, no, I don’t need you to - “

“Okay, whatever. But do _something_ , if you keep going at this rate it’s gonna stop being fun real fast.”

Either Spencer or Ian yanks the curtain shut; Brendon listens to Spencer walk away, and starts counting. He’s pretty much done napping, but if he leaves now Spencer’ll know he was listening.

*

Dallon gets horribly depressed the day they detour to the zoo Ian’s contact works at to drop off Leonardo the liger and Steve the giraffe and Marvin the elephant (Dallon had been _genuinely horrified_ when Brendon suggested they name him Dumbo. “We’re _artists_ , asshole, where the fuck is your imagination?”) who’d only shown up two days before. Brendon only makes fun of him for about a minute before he feels bad - it’s only entertaining when Dallon fights back, not when he just sighs and looks sad and doesn’t bother to hide how wet his eyes are.

While they drive off, Brendon and Spencer take advantage of all the space they have to stretch out in without having to worry about sharing with the menagerie. The three puppies and six kittens are still around, but the kittens live in one of the spare bunks and the puppies mostly stick to Spencer’s bunk.

Ian leans against the kitchen counter; he’s looking in Brendon’s direction but his eyes are focused somewhere a million miles away.

The baby goat that shows up at Ian’s feet is the last thing Brendon wants to see, but when Ian scoops it right up and brings it back to Dallon, he bites back his complaint.

*

Zack almost sits on Winston, the French Bulldog puppy Spencer had used to win his girlfriend back over after his plea to adopt puppy number four had her rolling her eyes so much Brendon could practically _hear_ them through Spencer’s computer speakers.

Spencer doesn’t speak to Zack for a full twenty minutes after Zack refuses to apologize, since it’s not his fault the couches are coated in baby animals.

*

“I’m a fucking genius,” Brendon says, and starts climbing into Ian’s bunk without waiting for an invitation.

“Um,” Ian says. “Okay? What does that - “

“You’ve been doing this a lot when you sleep, right, so I’ll just sleep _with_ you, and then you won’t need extra hugging.”

Ian’s eyes get ridiculously wide; Brendon thinks his cheeks are pink, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bunk. “No.”

“But - “

“ _No_ ,” Ian says again, and pushes at Brendon, not enough to knock him out of the bunk but enough to make his point. Brendon doesn’t push any more, just rolls out of the bunk and lands more or less on his feet next to Spencer.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Spencer says, but Spencer’s going to bring five puppies home and his girlfriend’s going to kick him out of his own house so what the fuck does he know.

*

Brendon’s deep in thought in the back lounge when Dallon shows up, Billy the goat right behind him. They’re inseparable, which is really cute except for how Dallon’s probably going to have to give him up.

“I think you should hold out for a pig before you fix this, because Breezy really wants one. She said I can keep the goat if she gets a pig.”

“It’s cute how you both apparently have farm animal things. And I already tried to fix it.”

Dallon sits down and digs something out of his pocket to feed to Billy, who butts his head against Dallon’s knee in thanks.

“Spencer sent me back here and told me I wasn’t allowed to leave until I made you stop being stupid, which isn’t even fair because what am I, a brain surgeon?”

“Uh.”

“Ian wants to hug you, apparently.”

“Okay? I tried that.”

Dallon sighs like Brendon’s the one being obtuse here. Brendon kind of hates his whole band right now. Maybe he could kick them out and start a band with the kittens, except he’s already promised the kittens to Jon and Siska.

“Hugging with your mouths. And other body parts. Naked hugging. Probably also regular hugging, I dunno, but definitely the dirty naked kind.”

Oh. _Oh_ , okay, that’s - okay. Huh.

“Spencer!” Dallon hollers. “You owe me twenty bucks, I didn’t need to draw him a diagram.”

*

The dressing room is conspicuously empty when Brendon gets there after sound check, Ian looking absentmindedly through the rack of stage clothes and Dallon and Spencer nowhere to be seen. They’re probably right outside the door, waiting to eavesdrop. Or walking Billy.

“Spencer and Dallon think you have a thing for me,” Brendon says. Ian sets down the bowtie he’s holding and turns around slowly.

“Dallon’s an idiot,” he says, “and Spencer’s an asshole who can’t keep a secret.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Which is why you needed them to tell you?” Ian’s smirking, but his eyes are unsure, and the tiny snake slithering around the back of his neck wasn’t there a second ago.

“I almost had it,” Brendon says, stepping into Ian’s space until Ian can’t back up any farther. “I would have gotten it on my own, probably.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Okay, maybe not,” Brendon admits, and leans into Ian. “Are you going to keep making fun of me, or can I kiss you now?”

Ian just nods; his hair’s getting fluffy again, enough so it tickles Brendon’s face. He slides his hand around - ignoring the snake that starts slithering onto his wrist - and tangles his fingers in Ian’s hair to tilt his head back. Ian’s lips are soft and dry, and Ian melts into Brendon, and even the oinking of the brand new piglet at their feet can’t make Brendon pull away.


End file.
